


Lift Up Your Head, Lift It Up To The Sky

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [33]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Broadchurch Crossover, F/F, Gen, Spatial Genetic Multiplicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor and Clara find themselves back in a small seaside town in Dorset, and face to face with someoneveryfamiliar...
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Take Me To The Stars [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1139201
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Lift Up Your Head, Lift It Up To The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Two-fic weekend, because I have so much good stuff coming for you all and I'm toooooo excited to share it.
> 
> Have a self-indulgent Broadchurch crossover fic, inspired by the fact that it's established on the show that Beth had Chloe while very, very young... and I figured she could use some kindness.

They’ve been here before.

Clara isn’t sure how exactly she intuits this, but she does; as they stand by the tiny harbour, she looks around at the fishing boats and the wheeling, screeching seagulls overhead, and knows that they’ve been here before. Casting her gaze beyond the marina, she takes in the tall, yellow-hued cliffs that flank the tiny town, and recollection comes in a lightning flash.

“Doctor,” she says hesitantly. “Haven’t we…”

“Been here before?” the Doctor frowns, looking around them with such speed that Clara wonders how she can possibly take anything in. “Yes, we have.”

“Wasn’t this where…”

“Spatial genetic multiplicity,” the Doctor murmurs, half to herself, and then strides off in the general direction of the beach, forcing Clara to break into a run to keep up with her. Clara jogs along until she reaches the Time Lady’s side, and together they summit the odd, long dune that hides the sea from the town, slip-sliding on the slope of golden-yellow sand that makes up the beach here. The Doctor stops at the crest of the dune, looking out over the rough, stormy sea, and then crouches without warning, snatching up a pebble and licking it thoughtfully.

“Can you please,” Clara pleads, grimacing. “Stop doing that with everything you stand on? A dog might’ve peed on that. A seagull might have crapped on it.”

“1997,” the Doctor says thoughtfully, ignoring Clara’s chastisement. “October.”

“Very nice. Stop licking stones.”

The Doctor lobs the offending item hard into the sea without warning, watching it form a tiny splash and then sink out of sight.

“Nice shot,” Clara says against her better judgement.

“Thanks,” the Doctor grins, offering her elbow. “Walk?”

“Why not?”

They link arms – seaside towns, Clara knows from experience, do not lend themselves well to same-sex couples; particularly not seaside towns this small or isolated – and head towards a small, battered-looking wooden building set back from the shoreline. There’s a promising aroma of coffee and chips emanating from it, and grimy though it may look, Clara is always a fan of anything that the Doctor can actually put in her mouth which consists of actual foodstuffs, instead of rocks, soil, and leaves. As they circle the building, the wind biting at their exposed skin, they draw to an abrupt halt as they realise that there’s a beaten-up looking pushchair parked outside the entrance, and tucked inside, in the depths of a nest of bright pink blankets, there’s a baby.

“Urm,” Clara says uncertainly, taking half a step nearer and feeling an instinctive surge of protectiveness towards the seemingly parentless child. The baby seems on the verge of grizzling; her – for it surely must be a her – cheeks rosy in the cold, and without thinking, Clara picks her up, holding her close to her chest in an attempt to warm the infant up. “Hey. Hey, it’s alright. It’s OK. No need to cry,” she soothes, lifting up one of the baby’s blankets and tucking it around her carefully. “See? Warmmmmm. Nice and warm!”

The door slams open without warning, and a mousy-haired teenage girl of no more than sixteen barrels out, almost colliding with Clara, as a shout of complaint follows her.

“And you bloody well _stay_ out, Beth Roper! Coming in here, flirting with me, trying to get a free drink! Leaving that baby out in the cold! I’ll bet Mark don’t know what you’re up to!”

“What Mark don’t know won’t hurt him!” the girl snarls back, before turning her attention to the pushchair and letting out a yelp of horror. As she catches sight of the baby in Clara’s arms, her entire body tenses, and she launches herself at Clara without warning, spitting and shrieking as she snatches the child back retreats to a safe distance, clinging to the confused infant like a lifeline.

“Don’t you… don’t you fucking _touch_ her!” she shrieks, half-turning away from them both and staring them down accusatorily, her chest rising and falling as she scowls at them, and Clara sucks in a breath in shock. “What d’you think you’re doing?!”

“She was cold,” Clara says calmly, wanting to exchange glances with the Doctor but knowing it will only convince the girl of her seeming guilt. In the girl’s arms, the baby starts to cry, and the teenager bounces her absentmindedly. “She was cold, and she looked like she was going to cry. I just wanted to make sure she was warm. That’s all.”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? I bet you’re a perv or something. Coming round here, snatching kids! Disgusting!”

“What did you go into the café for?” the Doctor asks conversationally, and the sudden change of topic disconcerts the girl, who blinks hard and looks over at the Time Lady. Something about the Doctor’s strangeness seems to both disorient and reassure her, not to mention the Time Lady’s wide, honest smile.

“Food,” the teenager – Beth? – says after a minute, trying to play up her words with a ‘well, duh,’ attitude but falling somewhat short in a way that betrays her desperation. “And a drink.”

“Why’d the owner throw you out?”

“Ain’t got no money,” the girl admits sheepishly. “He don’t like me flirting, trying to get free things. Thinks my boyfriend won’t like it.”

“Will he?”

“Well, he’s a prick, and all,” the girl says sourly. “And he won’t care anyway, he’s off down Lyme Regis with his mate Nige. Left me with Chloe, the twat.”

“Chloe?”

“Chloe,” the girl says, nodding her head towards the baby, and for the first time, she properly smiles as she presses a kiss to the infant’s hair. “Shush, love. I know, you miss your daddy, but I keep telling you; he ain’t worth it, love.”

“Why don’t we buy you something to eat?” the Doctor suggests, and the girl narrows her eyes at them suspiciously.

“Why?” she asks, looking between them with sudden, acute panic. “You ain’t social workers, are you? Oh god, please don’t take Chlo. Please, please, please…”

“We aren’t social workers,” Clara says gently. “We promise. We just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s kind,” the Doctor says simply, and there’s something in her expression which obviously reassures Beth, who nods tersely before stepping back into the café.

“Beth Roper!” comes an indignant shout from inside. “What did I bloody well say-”

“We know her, don’t we?” Clara asks in an undertone, following Beth into the warm interior and looking over at the Doctor. “She’s the woman we met – your… thingy.”

“Spatial-”

“Out!” shrieks the proprietor more loudly, as Beth stands frozen on the threshold of the café, clutching Chloe miserably as she visibly dithers about whether to head further inside or leave again. “Go on-”

“Excuse me,” the Doctor says brightly. “I’d like to buy this young lady the best of whatever you’ve got on the menu.”

“You what?” the young man behind the counter asks, chuckling. “Beth, what have you done to this one? Didn’t know ladies were your type.”

“Piss off, Sean,” she mutters, her cheeks burning. “She’s just bein’ kind.”

“Exactly,” the Doctor says in the same winning tone, appraising the menu written on a chalkboard on the wall. “So, three of your best cooked breakfasts please, and a pot of tea.”

Sean seems inclined to argue, but Beth makes up her mind and heads over to a table, sitting down with Chloe on her lap, fishing a toy from her coat pocket and handing it to the baby. Clara takes a seat beside her while the Doctor sits in the chair opposite, and Chloe stares over at this stranger – a stranger who, Clara realises with relief, no one seems to have noticed shares Beth’s face.

“Hello,” the Doctor coos at Chloe, reaching over and stroking her cheek. “Hello! Aren’t you a proper little cutie, hey?”

Chloe gurgles and smiles, banging her hands together clumsily, and Beth’s expression seems to properly relax for the first time.

“She’s a good baby most of the time. Her dad… he ain’t all bad, but he’s working so much at the moment, trying to save up so we can get a flat, and I just… I don’t know, I worry about him being off all sorts of places, especially with Nigel. They go out drinking, and… I don’t know, I worry about who he’s with and if there’s girls. He’s bloody good looking, really – don’t know what he sees in me – and I just think he might, you know, go off with some girl from up Bridport or Bournemouth who ain’t stupid enough to get herself up the duff.”

“I’m sure he isn’t like that,” Clara says soothingly, tactfully ignoring the way Beth’s eyes have grown wet with unshed tears. “Really. If he’s working to provide for you…”

“I just feel stupid, though,” Beth sighs, surreptitiously wiping her hand over her eyes. “I mean, Mum thinks I’m just being stupid, she really does; I’m going back to school, I keep telling her that, but she just keeps on and on at me-”

“Back to school?” the Doctor asks, frowning. “When?”

“Soon as they’ll let me,” Beth mutters sourly. “Which ain’t soon. Need to get someone to look after Chlo, and Mum isn’t exactly keen on doing it. Said she doesn’t want to be a free babysitter because she thinks it might encourage me to have another one. No chance. Not doing that again for a _long_ time.”

“But you’re only…”

“Oh, don’t you start, and all,” Beth says, her eyes filling with tears again. “‘Oh Beth, you’re only fifteen! Don’t ruin your whole life, like,’ ‘oh Beth, you’re only fifteen, what’ve you gone and got knocked up for?’ ‘oh Beth, you’re only fifteen, you’ve thrown everything away for a stupid boy.’”

“I’m not starting,” the Doctor assures her earnestly. “I just think she ought to be supporting you a bit more.”

“Oh,” Beth blinks hard, as though unused to hearing such a viewpoint. “Yeah. I suppose she ought to be.”

A tray bearing a large pot of tea and three mugs is plonked down on the table by a begrudging Sean, who scowls around at the three of them as he hands out the mugs and checks the brew.

“Makes a change, dunnit?” he asks Beth cattily. “You not trying to flirt your way to a freebie?”

“You know,” the Doctor says loudly, before Beth can respond. “I think I’d like to start a tab for my friend Beth here. How about that? Payment in advance. Can’t say fairer than that.”

“I…” he stammers, wrong-footed by the apparent generosity. “Urm. Well. I… suppose?”

“Good man,” the Doctor grins. “So, after this pot of tea, another, alright?”

“Fine.”

“Fantastic.”


End file.
